“Why—what—ails you?”
Curtis spoke in a low, droning, far-away voice that caused Jack Benson's upper eyelids to sink. Curtis stood watching him, in malicious glee, for some moments. Then, at last, he took hold of the young skipper.
“Come, old fellow,” coaxed the bearded one, “you'll do best to join your friend in a good nap. Get up in the berth.”
“Lemme alone,” protested the boy, thickly, feeling that he was being lifted. Jack struggled, partly rousing himself.
“Come, get up into the berth. You'll be more comfortable there.”
“Lemme alone. What are you trying to do?” demanded Jack, swinging an arm.
Curtis dodged the light blow, then gripped Jack Benson resolutely.
“Now, see here, young man,” hissed the bearded one, “I'm not going to have any more [pg 178] nonsense out of you. Up into the berth you go! Do you want me to hit you?”
Another man thrust his head down the cabin hatchway, showing an evil, grinning face.
“Got 'em right?” demanded the one from the hatchway.